It is normal for our Social Justice Warrior progressive interlocutors of the latter-day Left to exclude any middle ground. Either you accept their proposals without a jot of cavil, or you are an utterly insane, wholly evil Nazi, who ought rightfully to be killed.
They can see no way out of these two options that does not sap their entire apprehension of what is real, and how it works. Their whole (absurdly incoherent, ergo radically weak, and thus as fundamentally inadequate to routine life therefore terrifically vulnerable) model of things is at stake in every discussion, every interaction, even every glance (thus, “microaggressions”). Their overweening rage is an artifact of their chronic, profound existential terror.
This is why they respond with outrage to the accustomed hurly burly of mature recondite courteous philosophical disputation as though it were a physical attack. Nothing evokes the fight or flight reaction more than the suspicion that you are fundamentally deluded, that your notion of things is completely wrong, and that you are therefore in danger on every side. The fundamentally deluded mind cannot but feel deep down that reality is at odds with him (except at a moment of cathartic repentant crisis, he generally omits to notice his oddity at it; omits to notice his own epistemological culpability, borne of his own pride and cognitive insufficiency, and of his fear), and so is out to get him. He is at war with everything; he cannot evade the horrible realization that, as arrayed against everything that is, he cannot possibly prevail; that he is doomed. When you show up to challenge this or that detail of his basic doctrines, he has no option other than total war.
So for the Social Justice Warrior, it is all, or nothing at all. Either you are on his side completely and without reservation or quibble, without scruple or hesitation – or you are the hated enemy. But – sad! – there are always disagreements among men, frictions and factions and irritations, howsoever picayune or trifling – if not over points of doctrine or praxis, then over girls, or honors, or money. This is why the triumphant Left always ends up turning and devouring itself in an orgy of virtue signalling and scapegoating, and of blood. Holiness spirals are a bitch; positive feedback circuits have no way to correct their vagaries other than by death; by murder.
So give it to them, and let them run with it. “So if someone disagrees with you, and is therefore demonstrably an insane evil Nazi, should he be killed?” Then, bring it home: “So if you found that your son or your father disagreed with you about item x of your dogma, you would feel duty bound to kill him, right? And that would make you different from the Nazis … how?”
This will engage your interlocutor in tortured explanations of the many ways that murder in support of his own doctrines is *completely different* than the murder of the Nazis or the Cambodian Communists. If he is not already completely given over to Satan, he will soon run out of gas. His project of rationalization will falter, and fail. Gibbering may ensue: mad raving, or pathetic whimpering, or heartfelt sobbing.
To be fair, this sort of thing is endemic, not just to Social Justice Warriors, but to all sorts of people who find themselves in the throes of some passion or other – overtaken by emotion, and so unable in their hurry of spirits to parse concepts carefully, or therefore duly. Every careful caveat, every appeal to the importance of prudence and due diligence, reads to such men as a dire forthright assault.
In such a state, they simply *cannot* see that there are alternatives that lie between their jejune puerile notions and their complete repudiation. They *cannot* see that there is any truth that might differ from the propositions they have adopted as characteristic of their own being.
Pity then the poor Social Justice Warrior, mired in a moor of his own devising: “I feel sorry for you; you can’t think.”
Just be sure to pity him honestly, lest you yourself sin. No schadenfreude, my dear. Remember: the more candid and wholehearted your charity, the hotter the coals heaped upon his head. Don’t hold back. Love the son of a bitch with everything you’ve got. Hammer the poor sucker.
It’s for his own good.